


shangri-la

by blue_roses



Series: for him (i'd wait, i'd wander) [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Flashbacks, Light Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8213791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_roses/pseuds/blue_roses
Summary: So Lance came back, and he went straight into an empty space you put yourself in and said: “I have a cross around my neck, I’m watched over. You don’t need to worry about me.” You didn’t think you’d stop worrying, but Lance did have a habit of proving you wrong. He said he would, again, until you believed him. He said: “Let’s have our own place, where we can see the stars and stay on the ground.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!! im back again w another one of these things. there's some slight sexual content, mentions of parent death, and throwing up in this. be safe!! <3

  He’s a sunrise. He truly is, he doesn’t realize it. Not the sparks in his skin, the way his smile curves, like it’s the morning and all you can think about is the way the day will unravel. You used to only think about how the day can unravel, tangle, ball up, and you just have to work through the kinks. You don’t remember when you stopped thinking that way, you know it was before Tokyo, before Toronto, but you don’t feel a need to pinpoint the timing. 

 So you miss him at night, you miss him when he’s asleep, when he’s in front of his laptop editing. When he’s on trips, it’s when the night flows and ebbs, in that order, always in that order. You’re waiting for him to return, you’re alone, and he’s occupied. When you’re back from Tokyo, your brother is still figuring out his honeymoon with his wife. Allura and you get along much better once you realize she knows her own form of mixed martial arts, but mostly because you see the way Shiro looks and her and know she’s good for him.

 You’re back in your apartment, with him, in between the crook of your neck. His lips are brushing over them, his legs find a way to get even more tangled in yours. It’s logic-defying. You’re not complaining. You still can’t help but wonder if it’s the same for him, he says there’s no need to be insecure. But you’ve never had anything real, anything you’ve wanted to keep like this. You’ve been in love with him for so long, you didn’t think you knew what being in love felt like. Because that was, and is, the same as being with him. Pidge and Hunk might have laughed at you both, but it was worth it. For this?  _ Anything _ would be. 

 “Do you remember when you fell in love with me?” you ask. He leans back, looks at you with blue eyes and a subtle flush on his skin. Cute. 

 “What? You can’t just... _ ask  _ that!” he turns away, slight pout on his face. His cheek rests on your shoulder. 

  “I don’t see why not?” you’re not sure why he’s so flustered. It’s an honest question, and you don’t think it’s too weird. 

  “Because it  _ is _ , Keith, you’re too damn much…” Lance turns back at you, he’s got a flush you can only see from up close. You want to kiss it, so you do, until Lance mumbles a  _ hold up _ and you back away. 

  “I’ll tell you,” Lance says, “I guess, if you’re so insistent. But you gotta tell me yours first, get that embarrassment out of the way, you know?”   

  “Okay,” you say, because you’re not sure where to start, “let me think.”

  “Why do  _ you  _ get to think when I can’t?” Lance is still pouting, even when his voice is raised. You vaguely remember when that sound used to be jarring, but that part of you feels so foreign now. 

  “Well,” you sigh, “how about you think while I think? That works.” 

   Lance grumbles out a, “It does…” and you both lay in silence. Then, you go back. 

 

\---

 

   You met Lance when you are sixteen, he’s fifteen. A year younger than you, but still managed to share the one honor’s class you actually care about. It was the one paradise you indulged in as a junior, and a loud sophomore who was too friendly for his own good  _ ruined it _ . But not at first, not at first. It was when Lance gave you the stink eye during exams, or tried to one up you in ways you didn’t even care about until he came along. Lance had ruined  _ everything _ , and you had to shut him up.

 It had been three months into the first semester, when Lance wormed your way into some part of your conscious. You had stayed in the library, as you those days. Your brother had left for the military, but he’d always felt nearby. But now he was on a mission, and you didn’t feel like coming home to an house. 

 That was when you saw Lance crying, in the reference book section of the library no one went to except you. When you wanted to be alone, which was clearly what he wanted. You were going to walk away, he seemed so wrapped up in being upset he wouldn’t notice. You didn’t know much about these things, but you had a feeling your presence would make it work.

  “What do  _ you  _ want Keith?” Lance mumbled it, his voice was raw, and all your ideas went out the window. Instead you walked closer to him, looking to make sure no one was coming. 

  “Are you...okay?” you asked, because you didn’t know what else to say. 

  “What do  _ you  _ think?” Lance looked away from you, and you felt a sting you decided to ignore. 

  “Uh,” you started, “I think you’re crying?” You only realized that wasn’t what you were supposed to say when you heard a dry chuckle. But something told you he didn’t have anyone else at the moment, so you sat on the floor next to the seat he was on. It was silent. 

  “Do you want to talk about it?” you asked. Lance’s eyes were still wet with tears, even though he hadn’t made a sound in a while. They were the wrong blue for him, you wanted to see him get better. Feel better. Those were still different things. 

  “Did you really just ask that?” Lance’s eyebrows raised, arms uncrossing from his side. 

  “Yeah? I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to?” you stated the obvious. 

   “Whew,” Lance chuckled, “I forgot how you worked. In your own Keith world, where you assume everyone is just like you. But I can’t be like you. So don’t think I ca--”

   “I only go here because I can’t be in an empty house,” you said. 

   “What?” Lance asked.

   “Thought it would set the mood…” you trailed off. Lance was still looking at you, made sure to keep eye contact as he shook his head.  

   “For what? A therapy session?” he laughed, but you could see him loosen up. That was good.

   “But,” he said, “I don’t want to go back to a house without her.”

   “Without who?” you asked. 

   “You go first, you need to...set the mood right?” you didn’t know if he actually cared, but he seemed better. He gave you a small smile, and you went on that.

   “My brother’s at war,” you said, “my parents work late, he used to be there when I came home. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

   “Me too I guess,” Lance said, “my ab-- _ grandmother  _ died. Ovarian cancer, first time I saw my mama cry, and it was there. Right when she got the phone call.”

  “I’m sorry,” you said.

  “No need to be,” he said, “I just. Can’t be there right now. I’m a crybaby, you know? Everyone said,  _ Lance!  _ Can you tell us why you’re crying? And I just, can’t impose.” You understood in an instant. You didn’t try to take his hand, even though you thought it would add more comfort. Perhaps. Instead you stood up.

  “Go to my place,” you said.

  “What? I think it’s a bit too fast--” at least he was trying to joke around, but you still had a point to make. And you were damn well going to make it.

  “We don’t want to be alone, or with anyone who’ll comfort you. I’m a shit comforter, I have food, and video games. Want to come over?” you watched his expression shift to something you couldn’t comprehend. But you focused on his small, small smile and thought you were doing something right. 

  “Okay,” he said, “why the hell not? Don’t have anything better to do.” So he stood up, and you took him to your bike. You’d named her  _ Sally Red   _ because that’s the only thing you could come up with, he laughed a little when you unintentionally say it out loud. But he got on and held tight and screamed when you went too fast. For his standards, but it got you there quicker. 

 You both took off your shoes when you came in, your parents wouldn’t be back for hours, but you called out to be safe. You led Lance to the kitchen. He stood, leaning against a counter. You looked at him. He looked at you. 

  “I don’t just  _ go  _ through people’s fridges without permission,” he said. 

  “Okay,” you said, so you opened the fridge and let him peer inside. He grabbed soy milk and baby carrots and ate away the moment he sat down at the kitchen table. It was just big enough for two, so you got some milk yourself. 

  “This isn’t Silk,” he said, and he looked up at you to give you an answer. 

  “Nope,” you said, “it’s cheaper. Parents get it in bulk.”

  “I like it!” Lance took another sip, and he probably didn’t mean to slip that broader smile. But he did, and you definitely appreciated it. Something about it felt pleasant, and you didn’t put your finger on it. He didn’t ask you about anything deep, just sat and ate and asked about why you didn’t have a carpet. He had a carpet, it’s how the kids in his house didn’t  _ die _ . You said you just had to protect yourself, and he related. 

 But he still left when you saw your parents come through the driveway. You thought you heard a thank you, but you didn’t dare press it. You’d see him tomorrow after all. Tomorrow actually sounded kind of nice right now. 

 The next day, Lance treated you the same way he did before in class. But he was in the same spot in the library. He wasn’t crying, and he brought two bicycle helmets you hadn’t seen before. 

 “They were in my locker,” he said, “safety is important.”

 “Thank you?” you said. And when he forced a helmet on you, you knew you’d bring your own next time. Lance moved from the kitchen to the couch, flipping through channels until you saw it. You had no idea it was on today. Animal Planet was kind to you, giving you episodes like this.

 “Uh,” Lance scrunched his nose, “what is  _ this _ ?”

 “You don’t know Lost Tapes?” you couldn’t believe it. You had to watch it right now, which meant he did too by extension, “This will be the best thing you’ve seen in your life. And it’s the chupacabra episode.”

 Lance looked like he had a lot to say, but he stayed quiet. Even though he talked too much, he sat and watched with you the entire time. He said it was out of obligation, his last words before he left. Another day, you thought, another day. 

 Lance got a higher score than you on a quiz and showed it off relentlessly, even when he ate your food. You didn’t mind it half as much, didn’t think about why. That was for when he was better. After a week, a month, two months, only then did you start questioning. 

 “Do you leave early so you can see your family?” you asked, “It’s good to be home for dinner.”

Lance looked away from you, and you saw him strain before saying, “Yeah! It’s good for dinner. I miss mama’s cooking, even when I have it every day.” You had a feeling he was lying, he wasn’t very good at it. But then, it did take one to know one.

 “Okay,” you said, “make sure you eat a lot.”

 “That’s a weird question to ask,” Lance laughed, “but I will.” Eventually, his expressions didn’t reach his eyes, and you knew you had to do something. You just didn’t know  _ what _ . 

  Your answer came in the form of Lance’s two friends, Hunk and Pidge. Hunk was trying to seem more intimidating than he actually was, and you thought you saw a knife in Pidge’s pocket. You didn’t want to fight them, Pidge’s hands were shaking. Hunk’s body was shaking. You weren’t that scary, were you? 

  “Lance hasn’t been home,” you said, because it was the first thing that came to mind. 

  “What?” Hunk said, “But that was exactly what we were gonna ask about!”

  Pidge did a shushing motion, but it was too late. You just took a deep breath, because even though you didn’t want him to be, Lance was lying. To you, and the rest of his friends, and probably his family. Even now he felt a need to support them by not showing how hurt he was. You thought it was both selfless and selfish at the same time, didn’t know which one dominated. 

  “Yeah,” you said, “he’s been at my place. But he hasn’t come home, has he? He told me he has but…” 

  “He’s full of shit?” Pidge asked. 

  “Well,” you said, “that’s one way of putting it.” 

  “It’s pretty much the only way of putting it,” Hunk said. You agreed with him. The three of you looked at each other, Hunk and Pidge seemed more relaxed around you. You didn’t understand why they were afraid in the first place, but they were and now they weren’t. 

  “So,” Pidge sighed, “intervention time. What’s your address?” Something about the way she said it told you she wouldn’t take  _ no  _ for an answer. As if you’d say no to helping him, and they’d do a better job than you ever could. Even then, you held a heavier heart when you told them, and you hoped it was the right choice, that it would all be worth it. 

  So Lance came to your house, and you watched Pushing Daisies because it was the only thing the two of you could agree on watching. You probably liked it for different reasons, but you didn’t mind. You just didn’t want this time to end, but Lance left the same time as usual. Hope was the only thing you allowed yourself to feel.

  Less than twenty four hours later, you didn’t see Lance in class, or the library. The next day, he came, but your eyes never met. He wasn’t in his usual spot, and you didn’t know when you started viewing the spot in the reference book section of a school library as a usual spot. You were alone for hours, and somehow it was more lonely than before he came. 

 A week later, you were doing the same thing. Watching Lost Tapes alone, when you heard the knocking on the door. You didn’t get up, not until it was persistent, loud annoying, accompanied with a couple kicks and indistinct shouts. 

 Lance was at your door, without any of his school bags. Panting, even though the distance from your place to school wasn’t that far. Maybe he was out of shape, but he was also on the swim team, it didn’t make sense.

 “Come to my place,” Lance said. 

 “That’s a change,” you said. You didn’t realize it came out wrong until Lance looked down at his feet. 

  “Not in a...bad way. I just didn’t know you went home, or wanted me there or, yeah,” great ending. You probably looked just as awkward as you felt. Lance didn’t seem to mind though. 

 “Well,” Lance said, “I know the intervention happened. I was pissy, but I got my head out of my ass and want you to have dinner with us. Hunk and Pidge are coming too, hell, you can invite your family if you want. We love guests and it would be really ne--”

 “Yes,” you said, “I’ll go. My parents...probably don’t want to be with strangers. But I’ll go.”

 “Cool,” Lance said, “that’s cool. Because Hunk’s driving and we’re waiting in the car.”

 “Isn’t he fifteen?” you asked. You were pretty sure he was fifteen and anxious doing just about anything. You couldn’t relate. 

  “Got one early to help his family, same as me,” Lance said, “but he insisted on taking the wheel because I was too fidgety because of you. So in the end, it’s still your fault.”

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you said. But you locked the door behind you and walked a little too fast to be considered casual. The moment Lance made it into a race down the block, you made sure to go faster until the very end. 

   “Lance,” Pidge said, “get in the car. You’re getting in the back with Keith.”

   “Sorry man, but you two can sweat it out in the back,” Hunk said. Lance glared at them, but the moment you were both in the seat, to a place you didn’t know, he was smiling. The car started up, you felt the light thrum of the engine. You almost wanted to get out, just to let him onto your bike and go to a new destination.

  He could be your guide. He could be the one who you’d trust as a compass, a GPS, as long as he was there. You weren’t good with new places, but you’d let yourself trust. It felt less like a freefall when you saw him smile, even though a part of you knew you were looking too deeply into this. You didn't want to stop. So you kept your eyes on him the whole way there, only stopping when you felt the car lull itself back to sleep. 

  “You ready?” Lance had that confident grin the moment he saw you looking. He was a few seconds late, you saw the fear in his face before he registered it himself. Hunk and Pidge were getting out the front seats, going to open the doors in the back for the two of you to leave the car. 

  “Yeah,” you said, when you were sixteen, and he was fifteen. Things only went forward from there, after you entered a warm house with warm people and personalities you’d remember in time you didn’t know you had yet. There were the friends you’d only sort of made, and people you only sort of knew, but he was there. In the center of it all, showing you a world you took in yourself without much thought.

  When Lance turned sixteen, you had already seen his photography album. You worked on weekends to get him a fancy looking camera he was looking at in a catalog, with Hunk and Pidge getting other equipment, you gave him a set. He cried, though he’d never admit it until months later, when your brother returned from service missing an arm and a soul. Your brother gained it back in time, and in that time you indulged in a boy’s dreams and let yourself into more of his world. 

  You were seventeen near the end of your junior year of high school, Lance only found out because your brother’s been getting better since the cigarettes. You receive a cake and parts you wanted to improve  _ Sally Red  _ with. At least you didn’t cry, at least you didn’t cry. That only happened when the world told you your brother needed to be institutionalized and all you could do was stop going to high school. Six months later, Lance, Pidge, and Hunk would help you get your GED and tell you it was all going to be okay. Separately, Lance would ask what your parents said and all you’d remember was blank faces. You didn’t recognize them, you thought of moving out. You didn’t have to, not when they take you on a trip to Tokyo, not when you became an almost casualty in a crash on the Pacific Ocean. Not when you didn’t know how to grieve.

  By the winter break of Lance’s junior year of high school, he had plane tickets, scholarships, and boundless opportunities from a photography competition. You believed in him, you helped him, but you didn’t want to see him go. So you checked, flight arrivals, departures. Again, again, again. Once again, you learned distance. Three weeks later, your brother says: “I have to go back”. You knew he meant Tokyo and not the war. You couldn’t see him off, and he understood that better than anyone else. It didn’t mean you weren’t retching in the toilet at the thought of something happening, you checked for any possible disaster. Nothing happened, the weight in your stomach never went away. 

 So Lance came back, and he went straight into an empty space you put yourself in and said: “I have a cross around my neck, I’m watched over. You don’t need to worry about me.” You didn’t think you’d stop worrying, but Lance did have a habit of proving you wrong. He said he would, again, until you believed him. He said: “Let’s have our own place, where we can see the stars and stay on the ground.”

  You made sure to only say yes when he graduated high school, bound to an early college graduation due to the credits he got abroad all those weeks. He liked traveling, and you would too if you didn’t have to stay grounded. The day afterwards, you made sure to take his body, with a backpack, to the place you started renting. Close enough to part time work, the college, and the airport. The sun was setting when he came into a halfway moved in apartment, when he wrapped his arms around you.

  “Keith,” he said, “I don’t know what I’d do without you buddy.”

  “Aren’t you a happy one,” you said. But you wanted to say that it was truly the other way around. That the sun set at his whim, that he washed over you like a tidal wave at first, all before becoming a comfort. The sunset-orange light surrounded you, and he held your waist tight as his face sunk into your shoulder. You didn’t say anything about the newfound wetness, all you could think about was how this felt like poetry and home and a term you couldn’t think and feel at the same time. 

_ Shangri-la  _ was a distant memory, from the junior year English honors class. From high school, from him. You thought of it again, as you rocked each other, before you fell into laughter or anything else. You let yourself drift, sink into him, before you knew the gravity of your actions. And now, you’d arrived at the world you could only dream of. In a cliche, poetry-prose sort of way, this was the start of the rest of your lives. All you wanted to do was keep this moment, but you knew that the intimacy would pull back at low tide. 

  You realized you were okay with that, because all you ever wanted was him. 

 

\---

 

    “So,” you say, “it was probably right when we moved in together. And I thought, I think you’re all I’ve ever wanted, after all those years.”

  Lance’s eyes widen, and you can once again see the flush on his face, he kisses away your thoughts before you could say anything smug. So you let him wash over you, let him climb above you, taking off your shirt and pulling down your underwear with your sweatpants. _Ah,_ you think, before you say it out loud. You know he’s worried, about you being too quiet in these moments, so you let yourself loosen in his ears and say _I’m so in love with you, you know that? I mean it every time I say it and I want you to feel that when I’m with you_ _so can we start with when I’m inside you_. He’s moaning before you slip inside and he says he wants to do all the work. You insist otherwise when you flip him over, he doesn’t protest. 

  This time, you say the words he needs to hear, and he is a quiet, breathy mess. You don’t mind it at all, and he kisses you before you both go to the bathroom. Even when he complains that he needs to  _ pee  _ afterwards, he still lets you wrap your arms around him. 

  Lance is on top of you again when you’re cleaner, less clothed, and says, “I have to tell you my side, right?” 

  You nod, and when he starts with when he first saw you, in your honors English literature class, you tell him you’re listening. You know you’re listening to every word that escapes him and washes over you, a wave you never want to pull back.


End file.
